GAME OVER
by AoDxStudio
Summary: "If there were ever a screen for failure, it would be one that read: GAME OVER." A short one-shot that determines the fate of a Spartan. This story was inspired by a dream and a quote: "ONI Section Two Directive Nine-Three-Zero . . . . Spartan casualties are listed as MIA or WIA, in order to maintain the illusion that Spartans do not die." - HALO: First Strike, page 249


MISSION START IN . . . . 3 . . . . 2 . . . . 1 . . . .

The Alien architecture was spacious, encrypted pillars held the violet walls, while glowing panels of unidentifiable symbols blinked in no particular pattern. The alien pillars gave a towering shadow that casted the walls where you hid. Were the corridors not so darkly lit before the glowing panels, your presence would have called out to the lone Sangheili that monitored the empty room.

Armed with a M6C Pistol and a M7/SMG, you creep behind the calmly paced Elite. It elected a small gasp as your arm wrapped around its neck from behind. You draw the Energy Sword that dressed the leg of the Sangheili. With swift movement, the blade slices through the armored chest with ease. It elected a guttural cry before its body sunk, it's weight now heavy. You release the corpse's neck and withdraw the bloody sword. Once the light withdrew, you dropped the sword beside the lifeless body.

With one last glance, you walk through sliding doors . . . .

The sliding doors opened, revealing a hall with two Plasma Pistol wielding Kig-yar. Their heads snapped up, and they appeared alarmed. One looked behind you, where only a few feet away the corps lay, just before the doors slid back into place – You rush forward taking the shocked Jackal with you to the floor. You keep in mind that there are two, said other now charging the Plasma Pistol with sharp barring teeth. Before the charge could be released, you manage to disarm the Energy Shield from the Jackal beneath you. You swing your torso and the Jackel's shield – ready for the impact of the heated bolt you knew was sure to come.

The green bolt left the mouth of the heated weapon. The heat from the blast was felt through your shield, which flared red.

You fire two shots from your Magnum on the Kig-yar that lay beneath you - both shots entering the skull – the body now lifeless. The other Jackal cried in frustration as it waited for the Plasma Pistol to recharge. Long after it had, the creature was eating your bullets . . . .

At the end of the hall, what stood before you was a lift. The doors automatically opening before you as approached it.

You board the lift and the doors close with a sigh. It begins to rise, lights flashing below you with every passing floor, picking up speed. After a few short moments, it begins to slow. The opening doors revealing to you the T-shaped platform, where alien weapon crates hugged both of the walls, each of which its pockets filled with two Beam Rifles.

Curious, you walk to the very tip of the walkway and glance below.

You find that the structure you stood upon was one that protruded outward from an enormous hallway that seemed to stretch out both ways. Below the structure were numerous floors. Every other floor the walls lined, there was a rectangular platform where Elites and Hunters guarded an enclosed doorway.

Unsure from which structure, you hear sounding questions among those below.

Unfortunately, their complex system of communication kept you from making out anything from what was being said. The language began to turn into a chain of given commands by one of the Elites.

Your best guess: They know you are here . . . .

The sound of loud humming breaks off your inspection. You find yourself surrounded by four Drones. They fly over your head, with such noise in a tease.

Tease.

Although you are well outnumbered by the Covenant on the structures below, whose numbers exceed what you are willing to count. You entered this realm alone . . . .

. . . . And you are determined to finish it alone.

You are a Spartan. And Spartans never die.

Who were they to tease a Spartan?

You draw your SMG and unleash a magazine in your attempt to end the buzz. They swarm, their weapons releasing heated emerald bolts. The bolts that you could not dodge in the narrow space given flares through your regenerative shield, burning the armor that supplied it. Another round of bullets was directed and where some did not home the target that you wished; the others successively found purpose. Their fast movements proving difficulty: only one had been killed, and one of out of the remaining three was wounded.

You were being worn out in your haste to bring the outcome of this fight forward.

They were mocking you, and it was becoming more frustrating by the minute.

Your shields are too damaged at the moment to replenish.

Seeing the Drones swarming again, you take your chances and sprint to the end of the platform where the lift remained. You take one of the Beam Rifles from the container against the wall and aim at the nearest pest. With a jolt the rifle unleashed a streak of energy, which struck the hovering Yanme'e, whose Plasma Pistol was charged just enough to release the homing plasma bolt that left the Pistol the moment the trigger pulled free. The bolt blazes along your leg; the impact of the heated blast brings you down on one knee.

Your shields flashing red within your visor. You gave our best battle cry as you pull another Drone out of the fight with the rifle.

The rifle burst with heat immediately after the shot was fired. With a cry, you drop the weapon to hold your burning hand. With a sigh, the rifle cooled once the battery was charged again. You waited a moment for your shields to recharge before you returned your attention to the remaining Drone. It perched on the wall just above the doorway of the lift. You reach for the rifle to fire again when your hand is suddenly engulfed with plasma. Your teeth were ground as you withdrew your hand from the green flames. With scorching hands, you reach for the Magnum on your belt.

You whirl, the cross-hairs dead center –

With unbelievable force, you are swung. Your back coming in contact with the short wall guard that lined the outside of the platform. Your shields were warning red. Only a brief glance above you told you what the force of the blow came from.

Towering over you stood a Lekgolo.

Through your visor they could not see the look of horror that washed over you, nor could they hear the drumming of your heart. The beast was accompanied by another, where there is ever one, there is always another. Your attempt to get back on your feet was in vain: with a deafening growl, their Plasma Cannons flared bright green . . . . searing and blazing heat came over you . . . . your visor and all . . . . melting . . . .

If there were ever a screen for failure, it would be one that read: GAME OVER.

But Spartans never die . . . .

.

.

.

.

RESPAWNING IN . . . . 3 . . . . 2 . . . . 1 . . . .


End file.
